


Do You Ever Think of Me?

by hepsybeth



Series: Give Those Kids and Me the Brand New Century [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Gen, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, also i have no idea how newspapers work, and public opinion davey, at least for now, but suspend reality for a bit and it'll be alright, especially 1920s era New York World, i figured the next thing to being a newsie was working for a newspaper from within, so we got editorial cartoonist jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 00:06:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hepsybeth/pseuds/hepsybeth
Summary: Davey Jacobs wasn’t blind, but there were days when he wished he was.





	Do You Ever Think of Me?

**Author's Note:**

> part two of this series. like i mentioned in part 1, it's more of just a collection of prohibition-era newsies stories which may or may not have a plot (idk idk) and mostly everyone will have a pov story (which'll be quite the task since i'm envisioning some unholy mix of 1992!newsies and musical!newsies, and all the characters that implies). 
> 
> also, a good number of the "newsies" just work for the New York World but as editors or cartoonists or whatever it is they do when they make news stories. Others will be gangsters. Others will just be regular 1920s guys. Others might be "Probies" (or prohibition officers). 
> 
> But like, there's like no real plot idk guys i'm just flying by the seat of my pants here
> 
> Title comes from: "Do You Ever Think of Me" by Isham Jones Orchestra (maybe it's a little too on the nose)

Davey Jacobs wasn’t blind, but there were days when he wished he was.

His friend Jack was not-so-discreetly peeking doe-eyed looks at the newcomer who had just walked inside the doors of _New York World_. It was tiring, to say the least (and infuriating, to say the most). This was probably the third time she’d stopped by. Word was getting interviewed for a job here as an editor, but Davey rarely concerned himself with office gossip. The woman wore a curious and mischievous smile and had reddish-hair cut short at her chin. She was wearing a simple pale-red jacket over, what Davey could only assume, a simpler dress of some color. He didn't care. Jack needed to stop staring at the woman and get back to his job and quit falling in love with every woman he thought was pretty.

“Jack,” Davey started, rapping the desk next beside him. He stood next to Jack’s desk, like he’d been standing for the past five minutes. Around the room, various men were working on whatever pieces they had been assigned. One of Jack’s pals, a man whose real name eluded him to this day and was only known as “Skittery”, was downing glasses of water as if they were glasses of beer while going through various open books on his desk. Another man, only known by the name of “Specs”, appeared to be just finishing his piece about the stocks or something. Even though he had been employed here for almost a year, Davey still couldn't understand why the majority of people here went by nicknames rather than the ones they were born with. Most of the other desks had been recently vacated. It was almost time for their lunch break and he wasn’t planning on staying inside for even a minute longer than he was required to. “Are you--”

“Oh, yeah. It’s done,” Jack said. He opened a closed folder and pulled a paper out. “Don’t touch the image. I can’t have it smear like last time.”

“You’re the one who smeared it last time,” Davey muttered, flipping the paper right side up. He sighed once he saw the inked image. Instead of the editorial cartoon about President Harding’s platforms, it was a detailed sketch of the woman with the mischievous smile. Davey’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is a lovely portrait of President Harding, Jack.”

“What?” Jack said, finally looking away from the woman. He looked at the illustration Davey was holding at the corner and had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry. Wrong drawin'.”

“Obviously.”

“Here.” Jack handed Davey another paper, right side up. This time, it was obvious that this was Harding’s cartoon. In the speech bubbles coming from the mouths of the figures in the picture, both Harding and former President Wilson, Jack had written some scathing comments about the League of Nations that Davey was pretty sure he found funny, but he was certain it wasn't appropriate.

Davey looked from the picture to Jack when he heard his friend make his own dramatic sigh. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not my place to say what’s wrong with it. I don’t review the cartoons.”

“You’re reviewin' it right now.”

“Not the point.”

“What would Weasel say?” Jack asked, referring to the paper’s Editor-in-Chief, the formidable Mr. Abraham Wiesel. He didn’t run that tight of a ship according to senior members of the staff. In fact, word was that he was much more laid back than the previous men who held his position. But, he had his gripes. Mostly with a certain Mr. Kelly.

“Mr. _Wiesel_ would say that you’d need to tone it down.”

“Fuck him. And have everyone commend the  _Herald_ or, what, the _Tribune_ for doing what I could be doin',” Jack muttered bitterly, quiet enough that Davey was sure they were the only two to hear him.

"What do you have against the  _Herald_ and the _Tribune_?" Davey asked.

"Nothing. But they have funnier cartoons." He snatched the paper back from Davey and slammed it on his desk. “Tone it down, huh. I’ll show him “toned down”, alright.”

“How’d the _World_ even hire you to begin with?” Davey asked, voicing what he wondered practically every time he witnessed one of Jack’s antics.

“Because I have more artistic talent in my left ball sack than all of New York has in all its hoity-toity institutes.”

"Why do you work here if you don't like the leadership?"

"I like my friends. Fuck the leadership."

Davey rolled his eyes and glanced at the clock and his stomach growled. “Lunch is in seven minutes.”

“Go back to your desk. I’ll be done in five.”

Five minutes later, and Jack was true to his word. His friend passed it around to a fellow named Albert and from there, it probably found it’s way to its expected destination. Now, they were free for lunch.

Or so Davey thought.

He needed to work on not getting his hopes up. It’d do him some good.

Currently, he sat on his writing desk watching Jack turn his charisma up the furthest it could go in an attempt to invite the woman to lunch with them. Davey couldn’t fathom why. All the lunches since he had gotten here had been with Jack and his ragged army. In fact, Davey was almost sure he had figured out all of their names.

Now, they were going to accommodate another person.

_Fuck._

The wooing, or whatever Jack would call it, didn’t seem to work. The woman turned her nose up at whatever Jack said and Davey couldn’t help but feel relieved. Jack said something else to her as she walked away. It looked like she was trying to hide a smile. And from the same spot, Jack wore a smile as bright as the sun.

David half-wanted Jack to smile in his direction, just so it would leave him blinded. Anything but watch that interaction again.

Jack walked back, looking even more entranced than he did when he was working on the cartoon. Davey opened his mouth to ask him what just happened, and complain to him about how he caused Davey to waste another few minutes of lunch.

Romeo, or whatever the hell his name was, beat him to it. He swung an arm around Jack’s shoulder and teased him into opening up about what just occurred.

“How’s about you spill them beans, Jacky. You charmer, you.”

His teases were shortly followed by Specs, who playfully nudged Jack on the arm. “I think we've got a new Romeo in our midst.”

"You wound me, Specs."

Skittery snored loudly from his desk.

“What’s her name, at least?” Mike asked. Or maybe it was Ike. Davey could never remember and had made the rookie mistake of calling them both by the wrong names every time he saw them. He almost “shit a brick”, as they say, when he saw them standing together and talking amongst everyone else. It was frightening.

“Katherine,” Jack answered, his stupid smile failing to falter for even a second. He gripped one of his brown suspenders. “Katherine Plummer.”

 _Fascinating_ , Davey thought.

“In fact, I’ll have to catch up with you fellow later,” Jack said before turning on his heels. “I have a few choice words to exchange with the lady.” And with that, he ran down the hall to where Katherine had exited.

“What about lunch?” Davey called out.

“I’ll grab something on the way back!” Jack answered. And then he was gone.

Davey blinked a few times and turned to Romeo who was standing with hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a proud mother. “I taught him well.”

“Where’re we eatin’ then?” asked Ike. Or Maybe it was Mike. Who knew? Not Davey.

“There’s this new deli that my girl recommended,”  Albert suggested. “Paula’s Palace, it’s called.”

“Sounds dull,” Mike or Ike said.

"You have a girl?" Ike or Mike said.

“I do, for your information. And actually it’s pretty interesting,” Albert started, voice rising like it always did when he was about to go off on a topic that he delighted in. “It was supposed to be called “Paula’s Place” instead of “Palace”. There was some typographical error and the owners decided to run with it. A good decision on their part because there are far too many places simply called "something Place" and "Palace" puts a nice spin on things.”

“Amazin',” Specs said. “I’m starvin'.”

“Also, it’s probably a front,” Albert finished. A curious hush came from the group of young men and Davey raised an eyebrow.

“A front?” he asked.

“Y’know,” another guy spoke up. He had black hair and friendly eyes, but Davey couldn’t remember what his name was. Jack had a lot of friends. “A front.”

“Yes, thanks for that elaboration.”

“I’m leaving now,” Specs said from the door and the rest of the guys followed suit. Davey was still lost, still mildly angry at Jack, but he quickly joined them. Maybe, they’d actually explain whatever a front was.

* * *

 

“...and absolutely tore the poor fuck to shreds! Bang after bang after bang!” And the thrilling tale about a group of local gangsters and what they did to an officer finally came to a close (also, Albert disclosed to Davey what a "front" was and, if it was true that Paula's Palace was run by local gangsters, Davey couldn't imagine anything more dangerous than loudly talking about gangsters). The person telling the story bowed his head as if completing a performance worthy of applause, and applause he did receive. The man, “Mush” Meyers as he introduced himself, wasn’t even a member of the staff at the _World_ , but he was close friends with mostly everyone at the table. Davey had only met him once before and he was instantly taken in by the man’s easy laughter and pleasant brown eyes. The first time Davey had met Mush was at Jack’s place where he had reenacted the entire _Shuffle Along_ Broadway performance, or as much as he could remember from the various times he had managed to sneak in. He’d also showed off some commentary on shows he had written since he was far from the kind of person who was embarrassed to show off his skill. He was a dramatic and fun character and Davey got the sense he’d be an excellent writer at the _World_.

But it wasn’t as if he could entertain the notion. The _New York World_ didn’t employ Negros and even Mush himself explained that he didn’t have the backbone for something that intensive.

“Anyway,” Mush paused to down a cup of his now cold coffee. “Anyway, poor Mr. O’Malley is dead and only I lived to tell the tale of his demise.”

“And what a tale it was,” said Elmer (Davey finally remembered his name). He spoke around a mouth-full of a sandwich that seemed to mostly contain tomatoes. Some tomatoes spilled out, along with some strange orange sauce and Elmer dragged his finger down his plate and licked the sauce off of it.

“That’s disgusting,” Davey remarked.

“Waste not, want not,” Elmer replied.

“How true is it anyway?” Mike or Ike asked.

“How much would it drastically affect your life if  I continued to say it was true?” Mush asked.

“Not much,” replied Ike or Mike. Mike or Ike shrugged.

“Then it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.”

A round of laughs went around the table and Davey found himself relaxing into his booth. His chicken sandwich was a little dry, but the quality of food hardly mattered when you had quality entertainment.

“So, Davey,” Mush started, looking at him from across the booth. Davey felt his ears burn as all the guys looked at him. “Got any interestin' stories to tell. Anything you recently published?”

“Uh.” Davey cleared his throat. “Some lady from the Upper East Side sent in an opinion. It’s pretty nonsensical.” He paused.

“And?” Albert asked.

“How’s it nonsensical?” Romeo asked.

“With the nation going dry, she’s wondering if Congress plans to go after soft drinks as well. Whether or not there'll be a campaign against Cola.” Davey thought back to the piece, smiling a little as he did. “She’s worried that all the men returning from the war are going to be thirstier than ever before.”

“Here, here,” muttered Specs.

“She’s also, well I wouldn’t say “angry” that there’s going to be a dearth of alcohol during the fourth of July, but I’d say she’s more than just mildly perturbed. Not just that, but any holiday. “How is the everyday, upstanding American citizen going to decently celebrate traditional holidays like their fathers before them if they haven’t a glass of wine?”” Davey took another bite of his sandwich.

“Ooo, better watch your mouth, Davey,” Albert said in a playful hushed tone. “Probies hear that and they’ll take you for a regular bootlegger.”

“No, I was just quoting what the woman wrote.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s a fair opinion,” Mush said, leaning back into his booth. “How the hell are us common folk supposed to declare our patriotism to this beautiful country without the a haze of beer.” He raised his glass of water. “God bless America.”

Davey laughed.

“Ha! He laughs!” Romeo shouted. And for a moment, Davey was able to completely relax.

Only for a moment.

For not even a second later, who walks but none other than Jack Kelly with a certain Katherine Plummer at his hip. His hands were moving around animatedly and every word out of his mouth sounded as if he was only barely holding back a laugh. Katherine appeared to be taking it all in, talking just as quickly. Her hands, rather than expressing her excitement by throwing them all around, were instead writing something down on a yellow notepad held close to her chest.

“Hey!” Jack called to them. He was greeted by a rousing display of laughter and other greetings. Jack caught Davey’s eyes and said, “Hey, Davey!  Mind if you scoot over?”

 _I do mind_ , he thought. “I don’t mind,” he said.

Jack sat down next to Davey and scooted over, pressing against his side. Across from them, Katherine slid next to Romeo, who was practically drooling.

“Hello,” she began, a pretty smile on her face. She brushed back a loose piece of her wavy hair behind her ear. “My name is Katherine Plummer. I’d offer to shake all of your hands but there seems to be a great deal of you.”

“You get used to it,” Mike or Ike said.

One of the others snorted. "You haven't even met all of us."

“So,” Davey began. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s noticed that you’ve visited the _World_ a few times. You’re looking for a position?”

“Yes. I’ve got my heart set on investigative journalism.” Katherine folded her fingers in front of her and leaned forward, as if she could barely contain her excitement at the notion. "I've dreamed of it for a while. I draw my inspiration from Nellie Bly."

Davey nodded like he knew who Nellie Bly was. “Investigative journalism, huh?” David considered. “There’s some tough streets out there. Say you get the position. You think you could handle that on your own?”

Murmurs came from around the booths and the eyes of the men went from Davey to Katherine.

“Don’t let my outward appearance fool you, sir,” Katherine said kindly, but with an edge in her voice that Davey was surprised at. “Those streets out there may be tough, but I can guarantee that I’m just as tough, if not tougher.”

Davey raised his eyebrows and Katherine smirked. Maybe she wasn’t all that bad.

Jack gave a schoolgirl smile from beside him. “Ain’t she swell? Huh guys?” Jack wrapped his left arm around Davey’s shoulder. “Huh, Davey?”

Or, maybe he was right from the start. Maybe she was just was that bad.

“ _Gay kochen offen yam_ ,” Davey muttered in response The Yiddish comment went over the heads of his colleagues, but Davey wanted to kick himself in the head when he saw Katherine give a knowing smirk with her mischievous pink lips.

_Shit._

Since Jack and Katherine came to Paula’s Palace at the tail end of their lunch time, they only had enough time for about five minutes of greetings and joking and finishing the remainder of their food before it was time to head back to their desks. They all paid for their food (even Katherine who insisted to Jack that she was more than capable) and got out of their booths.

Most of the men quickly dispersed, their lunchtime chatter sharply evolving to remarks about the latest news that had occurred this past week, or the lack thereof. Davey was ready to join them when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched and turned around. The person who greeted him was none other than Katherine Plummer.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” Davey started, trying his best not to seem rude but, damn if it didn’t leak out sometimes. “But your date’s way ahead of you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving her hand as if to emphasize her point. “I told him to go ahead.”

“So…”

“So. I’ve heard a lot about you, Davey Jacobs. Jack wouldn’t stop talking about you while trying to grab my attention. It was Davey this, Davey that. Practically like a schoolgirl, if you can believe it. I half expected his ruse to be about him trying to introduce you to me.”

Davey could believe it. And while he was mortified because he could feel the tips of his ears burning, he was also surprised. He’d even say pleasantly surprised. “Really?” He couldn’t believe how steady his voice was.

“He sang his praises so loud I was surprised no one told him to quiet down. I had to get him back on the track that was trying to impress me.” She smiled. “If anything, I think he inadvertently made me more impressed with you.”

“What’d he say?” Davey asked because he couldn’t help himself.

“You have a work ethic that surpasses anyone else he knows,” she began. “You have a way with words when you write your pieces and you're very responsible. He says you're very humble and kind and one of the best the _World_ has ever employed.”

“That so?”

"Oh don't flatter yourself, Jacobs. He's done most of that on your behalf already. Besides, I had to weigh it. Either your excellent repertoire or his good looks. Guess which I chose?" And as she walked towards the door, she gave Davey one more look. “But all those accomplishments you've garnered? I bet I can match that, _schmuck_.” With that, she closed the doors of Paula’s Palace behind her and off she was.

And as Davey put his jacket back on and secured his hat on his head, he sighed once more. Maybe Katherine Plummer wasn’t all bad, he knew for a fact she was going to be plenty annoying.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, these guys aren't necessarily "kids" in this fic. Obviously. Since they work for a newspaper or whatever. I place them as all between 17 and mid 20s (although I'm not sure what age for who lol). Considering Davey's new, I'd say he's one of the youngest who managed to get a job through his writing prowess. Jack's a bit older and has been there for some time just because of how good of an artist he is or whatever. The majority of the rest of the guys are older (which, I know, it's pretty odd considering the canon lol). But I'd say Skittery, Albert, and Elmer are among some of the eldest. But these aren't all the gang and that'll come later.


End file.
